“Prisoner?” asked Jor.
The druid held his breath.
“Consort,” the Vaich said, a heat in his tone. “We are intended. Sun and Moon—just as the gods requested.”
Jor loosed a strained laugh. “You don’t mean you’ll—”
“We will wed.”
Cold dripped through the druid’s blood. He could not speak. Could not move. He felt a weight upon his chest. So unfamiliar was the feeling that he could not call it by its name, but the ache settled there, and it would not go.
“The Moon has granted me this divine favor and I accept it openly before the court.” The Vaich addressed the crowd, but his attention lingered upon Jor. “The druid shall be my bride; thus, I advise you take your handoffhim.”
Jor muttered beneath his breath, releasing the druid with a sharp recoil.
“Rejoice!” said the Vaich. “For your rulers are foretold. For first and for last, a blessed king and queen stand before you. We enter an era of unprecedented strength. Look well and see—the gods smile upon us!”
The crowd, once hesitant, set themselves upon the news with hunger, erupting into cheers; a firestorm of pride and primal desperation. It was dizzying, and for a moment, the druid felt ill again.
He stepped away from Jor, from the feast table, from that battering crowd. And through the fury and fever, those molten eyes fixed upon him. Not in defiance, not in fire…
But fear.
The feast carried on. But for the druid, it had ended with those three words.
We will wed.
Returned to his room, he was gripped with terrible pain. His stomach churned and he braced against the first sturdy thing he could find. His palms wrapped tight around the bedpost, unwilling to let himself collapse.
He would marry the Vaich.
It was a joke. An awful, cruel joke.
He hadn’t desired this. He hadn’t desired anything until it was so far beyond his reach that he could do nothing but gaze back in longing. He wanted the wind and the grass. He wanted to bathe in the rivers and sleep beneath the velvet sky. He wanted to wake every day to the promise of nothing and be nowhere. He wanted to exist quietly. Now, that freedom was all but stolen.
He was lost and could not find himself amongst the world any longer. He had been torn from it, like the banner of an old kingdom ripped loose in the wind.
Why?
All his life, he had known only one truth: the gods spoke not. They walked not. They did not exist like men. They breathed within the world around them, free of ambition, judgement or care. They were the sun and the moon, yes, but they did not make demands. They did not seek devotion.
Then what was it that called his name? What force spoke his prison into being?
Something shifted behind him and he whipped around to face the doorway.
“You,” he whispered to her. The moon priestess stepped down into the chamber, her shoulders relaxed, eyes sparkling with starlight. “Youknewthis would happen.”
Hirí smiled sweetly.
“It’s an awful, terrible story,” she said in her sing-song voice. “The little bird with his wings all pared, caught in his cage of stone. I warned you there was only one way out of this.”
His jaw set. “Your ambition is aimless. There will be no crown. No king. The Vaich has made his intentions clear. They will use this marriage to shutter me.”
She came closer with her serpent steps, her milkish face more eerie than ever. “You misunderstand. This changes nothing. ‘Queen’ does not meanlesser. Though they may use it in effort to minimize you, the power will already be yours. There is nothing they can do to stop you fromwieldingit.”
He shook his head. “This is folly.”
“The only folly here is your perception. This fate is foist upon you. Embrace it.”
